by OJ Lowe
Appropriate Force.
A Tale of the Spirit Callers Saga
by OJ Lowe.
Text copyright © 2018 OJ Lowe
All Rights Reserved
Any similarity between any person living or dead is coincidental.
First Published 2018 as Appropriate Force – A Tale of the Spirit Callers Saga.
Dedicated to my mum.
For her constant encouragement and all that.
Table of Contents.
Chapter One.
Chapter Two.
Chapter Three.
Chapter Four.
Chapter Five.
Chapter Six.
The Gifted.
Chapter One.
“Following the incident in which a fatality of any sort has been recorded, a qualified impartial observer may be despatched to deem whether the force returned was appropriate to the situation the agent found themselves engaged in.”
Unisco directive regarding the use of deadly force authorised on a mission.
The first time Nicholas Roper realised he didn’t want to kill any more was when he saw the knife sticking out of his partner’s abdomen. He hadn’t realised it at the time, instead he’d just jerked up his blaster pistol, saw the bastard draw it free in a wave of crimson and stick her with it again. Pull, aim, thrust. She’d burbled, her voice lost amidst the gasps and the chokes and there’d been no hesitation, he’d pulled the trigger four times and watched him go down in a heap, burns pockmarking his upper body. He was dead.
That had been a turning point, looking back. Working in secret for the United International Spiritual Control Organisation, he’d always known that danger and death were close companions. They were ever-present, they lurked in the shadows and came to you when you least expected them. Too many agents died every year. Sometimes it felt like the number grew and grew. There’d always be casualties. There’d always be more to replace them. The scouting system for new agents developed every year, they were always finding new qualities that they wanted to look for in their recruits and there’d always be those to oblige.
Part of him always wondered if it was some cosmic game. The odds were never quite against you, Unisco employed a lot of agents and if someone was going to die on the job, what chance would it be you. He’d always narrowed it down into compartments though. Say there were so many people who worked for Unisco. Many were in positions where they didn’t need to go into the field. Some did go into the field but the opportunities for them to get involved in anything dangerous were limited. And then there were people like him. People who did get shot at on a regular basis.
So instead of your odds being one in thousands, they went to one in a few hundred. Still good, but there became a point where maybe you didn’t want to take so many chances.
Lysa Montgomery probably didn’t. Stood in a hospital corridor, he gazed into her room, saw the salves on her stomach and the tube in her mouth. They’d wrapped her up in medical webbing, Doctor Hota’s medical miracle, done their best to repair the damage. Medical technology was at the best it had been for years and still no guarantees she’d make it through the night. Right now, she looked like she was on the verge of using all her good fortune to try and stay alive.
She didn’t deserve to die. Not at the expense of him living. She was younger than him, she had most of her life ahead, shouldn’t be fighting for it in some hospital in Salawia. He didn’t know why she’d joined Unisco, they’d been partners for months now, but it was something she’d never confided in him. He’d asked her, she’d brushed him off, apparently a secret she had no inclination of sharing. He’d done some truly horrific things for Unisco, stuff he’d never repeat to another human being for fear of the way they’d look at him. They only existed in his memory and in some black file sealed somewhere in the darkest recesses of the director’s office, never again to be exposed to the light of day. As far as he knew, Lysa was still innocent. She hadn’t done anything beyond the call of duty. Because, everyone knew, duty doesn’t call. Duty demands.
Sometimes, Unisco asked too much of you. Sometimes, because you owed them everything, you felt like you didn’t have a choice in going through with it. They had a psychological profile on you, they knew all too well how to manipulate you. They could pull your strings with one hand tied behind their back. That was their great strength. Just because you knew they could do it, it didn’t make it any easier to evade their noose. Like any good snare, once you were in it, attempting to pull free would only lock you in further. Like the best traps, they were the ones that you walked into willingly.
Hospitals always depressed Nick. They felt like they’d been too much of an ever-present in his life. First his father. Then his mother. Now Lysa. He leaned against the glass, palm outstretched against it, hung his head. His knuckles went white from the pressure, his fingers dug into the glass. It held firm against him. Around him, white walls snaked off in different directions, one way to the morgue and one to the exit. He looked through at Lysa, wondered which way she’d be going when her time here came to an end. That thought only depressed him. He didn’t normally get down. Not like this. He’d never nearly lost a partner like this before though. Around him, doctors, nurses, support staff and plenty of other patients swarmed the corridors in drab little numbers, none of them moving to disturb him. They had their own problems. If they were regulars here, they’d probably seen his look before on the faces of others. The look of despair of those left behind by cruel circumstances beyond even a hint of their control. Regret and sorrow twisted at his guts, his blood felt like bile. He wanted to throw up, just purge and purge until he couldn’t feel the pain infecting his being. More than that, he wanted to punch something. Anything. Someone would do. He regretted he hadn’t pulled the trigger faster. Hadn’t been quick enough. The only thing moving faster now were his thoughts, blundering into his head like an avalanche, heavy and unrelenting, a silent threat of engulfing him whole. He could remember the whole thing in ice cold detail and it hurt.
As a rule, traffickers in spirits were trouble. They had no qualms about using pain and extortion to make their point and it became as easy as breathing to some of them. What they did was illegal, painfully so if they were caught. It was a death sentence. Unisco didn’t like them. The courts didn’t like them. Even the magistrates who represented them didn’t much care for them. The public despised them. Spirit calling was, first and foremost despite what anyone else told you, a business, no longer solely a game for the masses to marvel at. It was all about making money. Ronald Ritellia had seen to that. He’d made more millionaires working with him than anyone else. He was the first to dip his fat nose in the trough, he’d shovel it all up and then shit out any leftovers for the rest of them to fight over like animals.
When spirit traffickers were cornered, they fought. They didn’t hesitate. They’d take the quick death over the months of being paraded in front of the public in the legal system, they’d be jeered and hated in an instant. Worse than that, they couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t fight back. Could barely even say anything back. It just made things worse. Then when the trial came, men and women who’d trafficked were frequently found guilty. The evidence vindicating them would have to be overwhelming to find them otherwise. They’d be sent to the toughest prisons, locked up on the harshest wings. In a matter of months, they’d be lucky to be alive. Other inmates didn’t like them. You could go to jail for murder or doing something unspeakable to a minor, whatever your crime, things we
re never quite as bad as expected. Yet you interfere with a sport that many loved, it went down badly amongst people like that who had little else in their lives than the few bouts they might be permitted to watch for good behaviour.
Especially here in Serran. Things really got bad for them here. This was the land of those who thought they were more cosmopolitan than the rest of them. Some of the people who lived here really had a huge chip on their shoulder. The arrogance in the streets was spectacular where people trying to make a few extra credits off them was concerned. They considered it a personal insult, undercutting the process. Because then they might miss out and someone else would get ahead at their expense. Not everyone was that way. Too many were. It was a funny kingdom. They loved their spirit calling though. You were any good at it here, you were treated like royalty.
This spirit trafficker they’d gone after had been a loathsome little individual named Bertram Avis, a short man in a profession that he had thrived in. Violence was something that came second nature to him. If death was a constant companion in the lives of Unisco agents, then Bertram Avis had perfected the art of dealing in it to those who crossed him. Nick had read the file. Never been caught. Suspected of plenty. Liked knives and had the skill and desire to use them in spades. They were a low-tech solution to most of his problems. Those who crossed him wound up dead.
He shuddered at that memory, saw the blade of the knife flash again and again. Again. Again. Once more. Avis hadn’t stabbed her that many times. Not in reality. In his memories, he’d damn near cut her in two. Regret. It weighed heavy on the soul. You could never block that out, no matter how much easier it would make things if you could.
Salawia had a waterfront, it had an aeroport and it had good transport links to most of the major Serranian cities. City officials were perhaps a little laxer here than they were in some other places. Police were more easily persuaded to look the other way. Those factors had left Bertram Avis with something of a reputation. Rumour had it he slept on a pile of credits. Nick had doubted that one. It’d have been uncomfortable for one thing. Avis gave the impression that while he might have started down at the bottom, his rise to the top had left him with a taste for the finer things in life and he intended to enjoy the fruits of his plunder. You could tell a lot about a man by various little things. The clothes he wore, for instance. Silk shirts and expensive suits when the occasion was right. Nick had seen Unisco intelligence showing him at a fundraiser for the mayor of Salawia, loudly proclaiming his support for the man, vocally declaring his eternal friendship and camaraderie. During business hours, the shirts remained the same, but the suits weren’t as loud or pronounced in their value. He still liked to show he was the boss. Those shirts were what had incriminated him.
The call had come in. Someone had come forward, they were willing to testify as to what Avis had been up to for the last several years. They had proof, they were willing, and they had nothing left to lose. Nick had read the report. Something about a family wiped out by a rival faction determined to kill Avis. They’d failed. Avis had wiped them all out in retaliation, but blood was expensive. It had been spilt and that couldn’t be changed. All the revenge in the world wasn’t enough to console the dead. The shirt had been recognised. Nobody else dared wear clothing like that. The report had come in from Agent-In-Charge Carlos Saldana, the big man of Unisco in this part of the kingdom and Nick and Lysa had been ordered to report to the closest Unisco office immediately.
It was the first time Nick had met Saldana, the first time he’d really worked in this part of the kingdom, but he’d been quietly impressed by the man’s professionalism and demeanour. Saldana had arrived first at the meeting, Fank Aldiss stood behind him. Aldiss was someone Nick knew by reputation, they’d all shaken hands as Saldana had explained the situation. They had the lead. They had the motivation. They had Avis’ location. They were going to arrest him.
“We can’t sit on this for much longer,” Saldana had said. “Sooner or later, someone will let Avis know what we have. He’ll be gone if he finds out. He might be finished here but he’ll just start up somewhere else under a different name. Our problem now belongs to someone else. I can’t accept that.”
Nick had found his reaction unexpected. Most Unisco chiefs didn’t really care about everywhere else if their own areas were kept reasonably clean. Pleasantly surprised. Moving the filth around didn’t necessarily mean that the whole thing was clean, just that your own house was in order. That was all any of them wanted. It was laudable what Saldana was saying. Judging by her lack of expression, Lysa thought so as well. He’d played Ruin with her before, he knew her tells. If she approved of something, she didn’t show it. It was when she looked excited that she was downbeat. He’d won a lot of credits off her by working that out.
“What you’re going to do,” Aldiss had added. “We want you to go in with our team, Avis will have plenty of guards, but they believe in his credits, not his cause. They’re not willing to die for him. If you can take them by surprise, then they should surrender. They’ll hope for leniency if they don’t start killing us. If none of them do, we might just grant it to them as well.”
Nick could agree with that. Once shots were fired, all bets were off. When the first shot was fired, it meant that the violence was only just starting. Appropriate force. It was in the Unisco doctrine, it was very clear about what that term meant.
“The team will deal with any guards that resist,” Saldana said. “You two are to arrest Avis. We want him alive. He needs to be punished for what he has done to this city. We need everything he has. Names. Dates. Quantities. Everything. The stakes are high agents, I’ve placed a lot of effort into this operation for it all to go up in smoke. We need a satisfying outcome. Nothing less.”
Taking him alive hadn’t been an option. Reflecting on that now, staring at his expression in the window of the hospital room, he could see that. If they’d put Avis down on sight, he wouldn’t have been able to stab Lysa. If he’d gone to cuff him instead, Avis wouldn’t have been able to stab Lysa. If Lysa hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have been able to stab her. If…
If…
If…
To many of them. That was the regret again. It was too easy to think on what could have been done rather than what should have been done. He could see it again, experience it all in full vivid recall. She’d been ahead of him, eager to get in on the action. Youthful exuberance. She wasn’t that much younger than him but a lot less experienced. They’d been partners a year, the number of ops like this they’d worked together in that time had been limited to a handful. She’d been down to learn from him, had been teamed up with him for that very reason. Follow his example. Be the best that she could. That was what Unisco had all been about. Let those who have gone before you make the mistakes so that you don’t repeat them.
The problem with that was that it gave new recruits impetus to make fresh new mistakes all their own. Getting stabbed wasn’t a new mistake, it was a stupid one. The intelligence hadn’t been there. They’d both been there when Saldana had reminded them to wear stab-vests when facing Avis. They’d known that he went with the knife over the blaster when there was a choice. What they hadn’t known was the material that made up his blades. The bastard had a pair of lukonium knives, their vests had been absolutely fucking useless against them. They might as well have not bothered.
Nick closed his eyes, saw the look on Avis’ face, suicide by Unisco as he whipped the knife out the belt of his pants. He knew what he was doing, he wasn’t going quietly, and he’d made his choice. He saw Lysa’s eyes widen in horror, saw him grab her by the hair and pull her head back towards him. She’d managed to twist her body to the side, a potential life saver yet if she pulled through. Avis had gone for her throat, missed badly, his blade had punched through her vest like she wasn’t even wearing one. He still heard the thuck of blade cutting through flesh, heard her gasp. Not with pain, but with surprise, like she hadn’t quite accepted what just happened. Re
ality had raced ahead of her thought process; her mind hadn’t registered the trauma inflicted upon her body.
He didn’t know how long he stood there staring into the room. Time felt like it had no meaning any longer. He couldn’t face it. He’d never lost a partner before. Not like this. They passed through your life, you were just glad when they got out alive. He liked Lysa as well. A lot. She’d been a good partner. Always eager to learn, always eager to better herself. She had a fine investigative mind, she’d been an indifferent spirit handler when they’d been put together, but he’d taught her a lot on the subject. He had to admit she was tough these days, she could hold her own. Whether she’d ever be championship material was open to debate but given she’d never shown any sort of inclination to do so, it was moot. The sport wasn’t for everyone.
Spirit caller was an ideal cover for Unisco field agents, they’d come up with the idea years ago and it had stuck around. After all, spirit callers could be found in every town and city around the five kingdoms, there was always a bout on somewhere and all roads lead to somewhere. Nobody even questioned their presence. Hence why someone in the hierarchy had made that choice. Sometimes he’d wondered which had come first. The idea to turn spirit callers into Unisco agents or the idea to make Unisco agents into spirit callers.
He could sense someone behind him in the corridor, not really making any effort to approach him, just letting him be for the time being. That, he appreciated. He didn’t like showing weakness like this, at least he hadn’t wept for her. That’d be embarrassing. He had a certain reputation to maintain after all. Unisco agents were supposed to be unbreakable. Physically and mentally tough. They did not crack, no matter what.
Right now, that felt like crap. Lysa looked like she’d been broken as she lay there in the damn room. Her skin looked almost translucent, all the colour drained from her, gone with the blood that had gushed out of her under the knife. She looked like she’d be cold if he touched her, the only signs of life being the gentle heave of her chest as she inhaled, exhaled, inhaled again.
